Title: Just a Matter of Time

Authors: art_of_mayhem and candygramme

Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek

Appearances: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and others.

Word Count: 5449

Rated: This part is Gen, but it will be NC-17 slash in future parts

Beta: lorelei633, who is very patient indeed and devoted much time to this classic.

Disclaimer: Dean belongs to Erik Kripke and Alex belongs to 1013 Productions. We make no money.

Spoilers: Not in this part. Later there may be vague spoilers to 'In My Time Of Dying'

Teaser: He raised his weapon and fired just as the creature hurled itself at him, knocking him back into the strange panel he’d found. Dean slid to the floor, moaning in pain. His eyes fluttered as everything faded from white to black.




Dean Winchester looked down the massive hole while thoughts of Alice in Wonderland flashed through his mind. It appeared to be some underground cave of sorts, although it was hard to tell just how big it was. Dean hadn't expected to find anything like this in Texas, but he was the first to admit that he wasn't a geologist. His brother walked up to the edge and stood beside him, his boots sending a shower of dirt and pebbles down through the opening.

"That's a long way down there, Dean," Sam Winchester commented as he gazed down into the darkness. He shook his head and handed Dean the coil of rope.

Dean gave Sam's back a little push. Sam stumbled backward, wheeling around. “Friggin’ jerk!”

"Bitch!” The response was instant and comfortable. “Guess it’s my turn to go down the hole. Don't drop me." Dean took the rope, tying it tightly around his waist before handing the other end to Sam. He flashed a confident grin at his brother before lowering himself down over the edge as Sam slowly played out the rope. It seemed like forever until Dean’s feet touched the ground. Once he reached the bottom, Dean reached into his jacket for his flashlight and turned it on. "There looks to be tunnels down here," he called up to Sam. "I'm gonna take a look around."

Stepping forward, Dean stopped to examine what looked like an oil stain on the cave's hard packed dirt floor. He crouched down, frowning at it, then dismissed it as nothing important and moved on.

Sam stayed above at the ready, looking about nervously, keeping a watchful eye on the road. It was nighttime, but the full moon was shining down on them like a spotlight. Their activities would be plainly visible to any passing motorists, including the local cops. He crouched down, hoping to look more like a wild animal than some tall lanky guy poking around where he shouldn't be. "Dean?" Sam called down in a hoarse whisper.

Dean ignored his brother, walking deeper into the tunnel, marking his way with the white chalk which he’d taken from his pocket. Suddenly, he stopped, thinking he’d heard a noise behind him. He wheeled around, shining the light around, trying to find the source. Seeing nothing, he kept on exploring. He moved a few feet farther down the tunnel before the beam from his flashlight passed over something reflective. Drawing nearer, Dean could see that, the whatever it was, it was made of metal. It appeared to be a panel with curious symbols etched into it. He tipped his head to one side and frowned. "What the hell?" he breathed as he leaned closer to get a look at the markings on it.

Suddenly, Dean was struck from behind. He grunted as his shoulder slammed into the panel, bringing it to life as he twisted around and pulled his gun from the back of his jeans. Disoriented, his eyes searched the dark frantically, looking for whatever attacked him. When he finally caught a glimpse of it, his eyes widened in shock. He’d never seen anything like the creature looming over him. He stared up into huge black eyes as he raised his gun. Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, the thing attacked him again, knocking his hand away. The gun went off, clattering to the ground as the creature struck him on the shoulder, making him cry out in pain. The blow threw Dean back against the stone, momentarily stunning him. Dean shook his head, trying to focus his vision as he scrambled after his gun.

He raised his weapon and fired just as the creature hurled itself at him, knocking him back into the strange panel he’d found. Dean slid to the floor, moaning in pain. His eyes fluttered as everything faded from white to black.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Mystic Seaport 1995

His father was dead, and here he was, as usual, having to clean up the mess. Fox Mulder didn't like Martha's Vineyard. He never had, since his parents divorced and his father moved here. To Mulder the place spoke of broken promises and faded dreams.

He shook himself and looked at the chaos that surrounded him. He was slowly picking his way through his father's papers in the hopes of learning something, anything, but it seemed that someone - probably Krycek, he thought to himself with a growl - had been there before him. There was nothing left except for bills and old papers, nothing of any importance., If there was anything else, he hadn't found it yet.

He cursed, sweeping everything off the desk onto the floor. This was getting him nowhere, and it was giving him a headache besides. He surveyed the mess with a disgusted look. He needed to get out of here and clear his head. Grabbing a jacket, he headed out to take a walk and hopefully blow the cobwebs away.

The air was crisp, autumnal, and the leaves were lying thick in a soggy blanket over the ground. Mulder jogged along the pathway between the trees, inhaling deeply and looking around himself appreciatively. When he spotted what he thought was a pile of clothing lying in a dip in the ground, he almost didn't stop, but his curiosity won out and he wheeled around to examine it.

It moved.

The ground was wet and cold. Dean could feel the sunlight on his face, and the smell of grass, dirt and leaves filled his nostrils. Green eyes blinked, and he groaned as he tried to roll over. His head was pounding, his body ached. What had happened to him?

He rolled onto his side and saw a figure making its way towards him. Spitting grass from his mouth, he let out a croak. "Who are you? Where am I?"

Suddenly he realized that where he was, was the least of his problems. A chill ran down his spine as he found himself wondering who he was.

The ragged pile of clothing had suddenly become a young man, and Mulder started back for a moment. "I didn't think that people actually said that in real life," he said with a wry smile. "Are you okay? What happened to you?"

Mulder studied the man as he slowly rolled over and sat up, wincing. "You look cold. How the heck did you get here? This is private property. We don't get many strangers passing through."

Mulder offered the other man a hand, noting that the newcomer was shivering. "Maybe you'd like to come back to my place to get warm. You could call someone to pick you up. Your folks must be worried about you, unless you've escaped from someplace. You didn't, did you?"

Dean was cold, and there was blood all over him. Only some of it was his own, but who the rest belonged to was a mystery. He slowly got to his feet and stood, clutching his head. "Boy, good thing you found me, dude, or I would have never known how cold I really was." He winced as he moved his arm, stopping to inspect the bracelet that he wore. It was strange, with beads of bone carved into skulls and little faces.

He gave the stranger a wary glance. "Does it look like I'm wearing a hug-me suit?" He scrubbed at the blood on his face and turned to look around, nearly falling over in the process. He stumbled a little, trying to catch his balance, "I..." He turned his head to Mulder. "I can't remember..."

"Whoa!" Mulder caught the young man as he reeled, steadying him. The kid's clothes were damp and grass-stained, but he himself was relatively clean. He didn't look or smell like a vagrant. The kid needed a shave, but then so did he. It was becoming clear to Mulder that this was no drifter looking for easy pickings and a warm place to sleep in one of the empty summer homes. He took a breath and made up his mind.

"You'd better come back to the house with me and get warm and dry. Wouldn't be neighborly of me to let you freeze to death out here. My name's Fox, but you can call me Mulder. And you are…?"

"You gotta be kidding me? Fox? Man, your parents must've had it in for you." Dean rubbed his arm and thought for a moment. He frowned as he started patting himself down, looking for a wallet or something else that could tell him who he was. "I don't know," he answered, feeling rather small and very worried.

He produced the wallet at last, opening it up to look for a driver's license. He glanced at Mulder, "It says Dean Winchester." There was a slightly lost look upon his face as he spoke his own name. "Dude, I can't remember who I am." He started walking, still looking through the wallet and saw a picture of a young man and then another of a man and two boys. Something inside Dean kicked in, but he didn't let his companion see it.

"Yeah, you got that right about the name. I go by Mulder. Don't use the Fox if I can help it." Mulder took the license from his companion's hand and checked it out, studying the photograph and comparing it to the man walking at his side. "Yep, that's you all right," he said, handing it back. "It says here you're from Kansas. Well, Toto, you're not in Kansas any more. This is Massachusetts - Martha's Vineyard to be specific."

He studied Dean, eyes widening as he saw there was no apparent recognition on the other man’s face. "Were you on vacation here, or something?"

Dean blinked at Mulder and then gave a shrug. "I don't know." He tucked the wallet back in his pocket and continued his search. A swift hunt through the rest of his pockets proved fruitless; all he found was a pocketknife. Dean pulled it out, turning it over a few times before slipping it back.

"Look, I don't know how I got here, or where I'm from. I don’t have a clue what I would be doing on Martha's Vineyard. All I know is that I feel like I've been beat to hell. I've got blood on me. I think it's mine but I can't even be sure of that." He opened his brown leather jacket and looked down at his chest. The front of his shirt was in ribbons, as if something had scratched him. "My head hurts, my back hurts, hell, everything hurts. And the worst of it is that I don't even know who the hell Dean Winchester is."

Mulder said nothing further, but he began to lead the confused young man back to the house, thinking that perhaps a cup of coffee or some hot soup was called for. It wasn't far, and at length he led Dean up the steps and in through the back door into his father's kitchen. The house was warm, and the scent of something savory cooking in the oven made his mouth water.

The petite redhead, clad in jeans and a checked shirt, turned to look at them from where she was standing balanced atop a ladder, peering into the recesses of a cupboard. "Mulder, there are cans in here that date back to the Revolution. I recommend that you throw them out, unless you plan on poisoning someone." She stepped down and wiped her hands on her jeans as she saw Dean enter the room behind him. "Hello?" she said. "Come to help?"

"Well, that depends on what you need help with..." Dean's flirtatious charm came through despite the memory loss. He shook his head. "Goldilocks here found me laying face down on the ground. I can't seem to remember a thing." He sighed as he gave her a bewildered look and moved over to take a seat at the kitchen table. He suddenly looked like a lost little boy as he gazed at the pair.

Scully frowned. "My name's Dana," she murmured, holding out her hand. "Come and have coffee, while we try and decide what to do." She cast an eye over at Mulder and raised her eyebrows. "Do you suppose Dr. Werber could help him?" Turning back to Dean, she grinned as she poured the coffee and offered him a cup. "Dr. Werber is a hypnotherapist. He helped Mulder a lot when he lost his memory for a while."

Dean took the woman's hand, giving it a shake before accepting the cup and drinking. "Hypnotherapist? That really works?" Dean raised his eyebrows at the two of them. He didn't put too much faith in that stuff, but he wasn't in a position to be choosy. "You think I could take a shower? Get cleaned up a little?" he asked and smiled gratefully as Mulder nodded his assent.

He took a sip of his coffee and stood up, leaning on the table for support. “You two live here together?"

"No!" Mulder and Scully spoke at the same time, then looked at one another, flustered.

"He's my partner," said Scully.

"Work partner, that is," added Mulder.

"We work together." Scully gave Mulder a smirk. "In the F.B.I.. This is Mulder's father's house. He died recently. I'm helping Mulder go through it and get it ready for sale."

Dean's green eyes shifted between the two, and he gave a nod, "Oooo-kay," he said slowly as if he didn't believe them. He took another sip of his coffee and frowned, suddenly filled with a strange sense of dread. He shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry about your dad," he said softly.

"Yeah, me too," said Mulder, a little ungraciously. "I guess you can shower now." The bathroom wasn't somewhere Mulder ever wanted to re-visit. Even now, he could still see his father lying there, bleeding on the floor, the light in his eyes slowly dying. "Scully, can you show him...?" He gave Scully a puppy-dog look, and she rose to her feet. "Sure, Mulder, because I obviously am the servant you always wanted."

Casting a smile at Dean, she beckoned him. "Come this way. I'll show you where everything is."

Dean stared at the pair for a moment, especially Mulder, almost as if he knew that look. In his mind he could see another face instead of Mulder’s, a sweet little face with moles and puppy dog eyes, until, with a blink, it was gone. Turning to follow Scully up into the bathroom he stood frowning.

"His dad died in this house, didn't he?" Dean stripped his jacket off, tossing it on the floor. His eyes met Scully's in mute inquiry.

“Yes." Scully nodded, her eyes solemn. "He was shot in the head. He died in Mulder's arms. Mulder's never gotten over it."

For a moment, she looked as if she were going to say something else, but then she shook herself, giving Dean a polite smile. "See, towels in here, soap and shampoo right there. Enjoy your shower. I'll see if I can find something of Mulder's for you to wear while we launder your clothes, okay?"

Dean nodded and grinned at Scully as he pulled his outer shirt off. "I'll toss my clothes out, if you like, so you don't have to blush the color of your hair." He winked at her then, as she left, he closed the door to finish undressing.

“I’m a doctor,” called Scully, tartly. “If you have anything I haven’t seen before, I’ll take a photo of it and write it up for the Journal, gathering up Dean’s clothing when he opened the door to toss them out.

Inside the bathroom, Dean took a long shower. He winced as the hot water sluiced over the scratches on his chest. He wished he could remember how he got them. Soon, though, he just closed his eyes, sighing as the hot water cascaded over him, easing the pain of sore, cramped muscles.

It wasn't long before he was out, towel about his waist. He didn't see any clothing left outside the door, so he ventured out and started down the stairs, pausing to examine a few of the photos that lined the staircase.

"Ah, there you are." Mulder had come to the foot of the stairs and now stood looking up at Dean. "I found some clothes that should fit you well enough. They're in the guest bedroom, second door on the left. Once you're ready, come on down and we'll have dinner. Scully's been cooking, and it doesn't smell as bad as usual."

He yelped as a saucepan lid hit him, evidently tossed by the much maligned Scully. Gesturing at Dean, Mulder turned to go and defend himself. "See you in a few minutes," he called as he went.

Dean turned back around and headed into the bedroom to get dressed. A few minutes later he padded downstairs and into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. Whatever was for dinner, it smelled good, and he was starting to feel more like himself. "Boy that smells incredible." He leaned over Scully's shoulder, inspecting the meal she’d cooked.

"I'm starving,” he murmured. “For some reason I get the feeling it's been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal." He sat down at the table in the seat that Mulder indicated for him.

"Chicken stew with potatoes," said Scully, pride ringing in her voice. "I'm trying to convince Mulder that there is life outside of the greasy spoon diners he frequents." She smiled at Dean as she ladled out a good helping of the food, passing him the dish and a spoon and fork. "Maybe Mulder will want some too, after he sees that it doesn't poison you."

"Scully, you know I've always loved you, don't you?" Mulder was grinning at his partner, his face contorting in an attempt to appear contrite. "And I'm starving, so don't be cruel."

Dean had grabbed the bowl with a nod of thanks, and was now digging away at it. "Home cooking is the best. My mom used to make sure me and dad always..." He was suddenly silent as he carried on eating, trying desperately to figure out what he had just said. Was it really a memory?

He ate quickly, using the food to keep from saying anything else except, "Greasy spoons have their place, but you can't live on that alone."

"The cholesterol will harden your arteries just reading the menu," agreed Scully, smirking at her partner, who didn't say a word, wisely digging into his own plateful of stew. "So how did you get here?" she asked Dean, at length. "You can't remember anything? What's the last thing that you do remember?"

She cast a glance at Mulder. "We could try to find out where he came from. We know his name, and that's a place to start."

"I... I don't know, I just woke up on the ground, cold and sore." Dean took another bite of stew as he glanced at Mulder, "My I.D. says I'm from Kansas, but I don't think clicking my heels is gonna get me home. Plus I really don't look good in pumps."

"Oh, I don't know." Mulder's lower lip pushed out as he considered Dean. "You'd look kinda cute in ruby red slippers," he said, smirking.

"I'm sure you just happen to have a pair in your closet," Dean had finished his plateful, nearly licking it clean, and he sat back with a contented sigh.

The meal was over soon enough, and Scully watched Mulder closely as he put all the dishes into the dishwasher. "You should probably stay here tonight," she said, concentrating on supervising her partner. "It's too late to do much ‘til morning, and it's Sunday too. Dr. Werber will be in his office tomorrow. We'll call him in the morning and ask if he'll see you."

Dean turned to look at Mulder as if to see if it was okay with him, since the house belonged to him, but then a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Scully. "Will you read me a bedtime story?" He smiled brightly at her as he got to his feet and crossed over to the couch. "I can sleep here, if that’s okay with you."

He flopped down, comfortably sprawling, ankles crossed and arms folded at the back of his head as he smirked.

"Sure, if you don't want a bed," murmured Mulder, nodding. "We can find you a blanket and a pillow, and Scully here will tell you all kinds of stories. She's really good at the nursery rhymes. Get her to sing the one about the four and twenty blackbirds for you. I always get a kick out of that one."

Scully made a face at Mulder, then turned and smiled at Dean. "Ignore him. He's reached his second childhood already. Besides, his favorite is actually Humpty Dumpty."

Dean got up again, his face alight with appreciation. "Bed? I actually get to sleep in a bed?" He closed the distance between them until he was beside Scully. "I'll listen to anything you say," he murmured, smiling down at her. "Just lead the way." Placing a hand at the small of her back, he followed her as she headed for the stairs.

"Did I say thanks for all this? I really do appreciate it," Dean offered from the top of the stairs. He stopped at the room that she’d indicated would be his and frowned as he gazed down the hall. Pushing open the door, he went in and crossed to sit upon the bed, glancing up to Scully, "You ever... I got this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach and I can't explain why."

Pausing in the doorway, she frowned, looking at him. "What do you mean, like some sort of premonition?" she asked him. "Perhaps you don't feel great because of what's happened to you. Maybe I should check you over, just in case. You could be injured. People don't lose their memory for no apparent reason. Amnesia is a lot more difficult to get than popular novelists seem to think."

Mulder had followed them up the stairs, and now he gave Dean a grin. "She's allowed to check you over, you know. She actually is a doctor." Turning to Scully, he considered. "Might not be a bad idea, either. He had blood on him, and given the circumstances, we should make sure that he's actually not going to die on us during the night. This place has enough bad karma without that."

Dean looked up at Scully like a lost little kid, feeling stupid, but somehow needing reassurance. "I do have these on my chest." Dean lifted his shirt up, exposing deep scratches that were still oozing, and he shifted his gaze back to her. Pulling his shirt off over his head, he looked even more worried at Mulder's words. "I can't die." He shook his head. “I have to…” He fell silent, suddenly unsure what it was that he had to do.

"I don't understand," said Scully. "What do you mean, you can’t die?" She peered at the scratches, lips pursed. "Those look like claw marks. From a cougar, maybe, or some other large animal. I don’t think that there are any of those on the island though." Her face cleared. "I should probably dress these. They look as though they're getting infected."

"Neat amulet you have there," murmured Mulder, lounging against the wall as he watched the other two talk. "It looks Egyptian."

Dean looked down, touching the scratches, and then shifted his eyes back to the redhead. "I don't know what it was. I can't remember. I just know it hurts." He sighed, glancing up at Mulder and fingering the amulet that hung around his neck., "I guess. If you say so." He let it fall. "I really need to find out who I am.”

Scully moved. “I’ll just go and get my things,” she said.

"You aren't gonna hurt me are you?" Dean looked up.

"Only if you ask nicely," she said, smirking. She turned and headed back to one of the other bedrooms, returning a moment later with a plastic container from which she pulled ointment and dressings. "Come on, let me take a look at you. We'll dress those in a jiffy."

Suiting her words to her actions, she inspected the wounds narrowly. They were deep gouges, and looked painful. She smeared antiseptic onto them, covered them with a dressing and taped it down to his skin. "Good job you don't have a hairy chest," she grinned. "It's always fun getting the dressing off again when that happens."

Dean had been a good little patient, even assisting her by handing her things as she required them. Once the dressing was on, he peered at it then got to his feet. "Thanks," he said to her as she left the room, and then began to get ready for bed.

Crawling into the bed, Dean curled up as he stared out the window. He suddenly felt lonely and more than lost. He pulled the other pillow to him, hugging it till he was able to fall asleep. When he did, his dreams were strange and rather disturbing, full of things he didn't want to see, full of spirits and people with yellow glowing eyes.

He rolled onto his stomach, slid his hand under the pillow, and he tossed restlessly for most of the night. Waking in the morning, he felt like the little rest he got hadn't done him any good at all. He got up and dressed, then washed up and headed downstairs. Mulder and Scully weren't up yet, so he made some coffee and then wandered out onto the back porch, sitting down to stare out at the countryside.

The leaves were turning from green to gold and red, and as he watched, the breeze brought a handful tumbling down to dance at his feet, finally coming to rest in the grass, temporarily spent. To one side of the house stood the trees, birches and pines, crowding against the edge of the yard. Something moved in the thick undergrowth, something that Dean might not have seen if he hadn't been following the path of a single, brightly colored leaf, blown by the wind towards the thicket of brush.

Dean set the coffee cup down, his head tipping to one side as he got up. He started to head over and then realized that he was looking at someone's boot, a boot that had to be attached to a person. Did they know Mulder? Or Scully? And what the hell were they doing lurking around at this hour of the morning? He was puzzled, and he certainly wasn't going to find out unless he asked.

"You plan on playing in the brush, or you gonna come out. Because if you are staying in there, I'm sure Mulder wouldn't mind you pulling a few weeds. Hell you could even trim the hedge."

"You mind keeping it down? If I actually wanted Mulder to know I was here, I'd be dancing a tango on his lawn." The voice was husky, silken words spoken sarcastically as the person hiding away slid further back into the shadows. "You're not a Fed, are you? Mulder doesn't know any real people."

Dean caught a flicker of movement as whoever it was ghosted back behind a clump of Douglas firs, but the man himself remained just beyond his line of sight.

He frowned, "Then why are you here?" he asked, crossing his arms. "No, I'm not a Fed, but I sure as hell will yell loud enough to get their attention, if you don't start answering my questions." Dean moved in closer, smiling at the thought that most people in this situation would probably step away.

"You don't know what you're messing with, kid. Take my advice and stay away from Mulder. You'll only end up getting tangled up in something you'd rather not, if you stick around." There was the click of a safety being released. The voice, more insistent now, said, "Stay back. Believe me, you won't like what'll happen if you don't. Why don't you just forget about hunting for ghosts and aliens with the dynamic duo in there and go home to your girlfriend. I bet she's really cute."

Dean stopped at the sound of the click. His heart seemed to stop beating, and he held his breath. Glancing back at the edge of the house, he frowned, staring at the area the voice was coming from, "Ghosts? Aliens? What the hell?" He shook his head, "They said they were F.B.I., not some..." Dean’s voice trailed away. "I..." He shook his head, "I don't know if I have a girlfriend." He peered into the brush, then looked at the house again and wondered what he’d got himself into. He could feel a chill run down his spine and decided that now might be the time to leave this confusing situation behind him. "I don't even know who I am. Where I am. Just point me toward town."

"You really don't know what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" There was a hint of amusement in the husky voice. "Well, take my advice, kid. Put some distance between yourself and them, and the sooner the better." Dean heard the soft click again, as if the mysterious visitor had decided he was harmless. "You really want to get out of here?" he paused. "If you do, and I recommend it for your continued good health, I can give you a ride back to town. Where you from, kid?"

Dean stopped, looking back, "My license says Kansas. Lawrence, Kansas. So unless you want to drive me there, to town would be fine." He started walking once again, hands shoved deep in the brown leather jacket that he’d draped over his shoulders. "Why do I get stuck with the freaks?" he muttered.

The man who had been addressing him finally emerged from the shadows. Dean saw a man whose relaxed, casual demeanor concealed a coiled-spring readiness for anything. He was clad in jeans, t-shirt and black leather biker's jacket, and the gleam in his eyes was feral, that of a man who would do whatever it took, and smile while he did it. "Perhaps it's you," he said, with a smirk. "Maybe you're a freak magnet. Have you thought of that?"

"I wouldn't know," Dean mumbled, looking up at the man from under his lashes. "I think I should go to a hospital. I can't remember anything. I woke up in a ditch or something and that guy found me." He felt like a lost little puppy with no place to go. He didn't know who he was, and now he had no one to turn to, either. He’d thought the F.B.I. couple would help him, but even though they’d been kind to him, it had just been suggested to him that the two he’d stayed with the previous night had misrepresented themselves to him. He sighed.

"Listen, dude. If you'll just take me to town and drop me off, I'll be out of everyone's hair."

"You got Blue Cross?" The man gave Dean a sideways glance, assessing his battered leather and worn jeans. "Maybe you're an eccentric millionaire, going amongst the peasants for a bit of a change." He gave a small chuckle. "Gotta tell you though, man, you don't really look flush to me." He turned, beckoning to Dean to follow him. "My car's along this way, if you're serious about leaving Cheech and Chong to it." The man started to walk without checking whether or not Dean was following. "Let's go."

Dean hesitated a moment, wondering if he should trust this man. The look in his eyes was dangerous, but it seemed that he was, like the others, willing to help him. Dean glanced back at the house one last time before following the newcomer, "Hey, um... my name is Dean Winchester." He caught up to the man, walking beside him, "What is your name, or shall I just call you leather boy?" he gave a quick smile.

"You can call me Alex." The words were said with a slight half-smile, and the man slowed his pace a little to match Dean's. "Okay, let's go. I'll tell you what this is all about, once we're off the Mulder land."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~